Old Days

I picked up a shard of glass and couldn’t help running my fingertips over it’s sharp edges 

Sometimes wanting to carve my skin underneath it’s rigid flaws, take bliss in the crimson pain that excites my dying wishes… Sometimes wanting to cut my own lifeline of the powerful urging sensations my darkness brings me.

 I fear not of the day I die- but the moment where I’ll have no reason to keep breathing, a truth that’ll cease my living thoughts and plunge me in a dead darkness with translucent arms beckoning me in. 


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